


Sacrament

by anastiel



Series: Supernatural Codas [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Canonical Character Death, Frottage, Grief/Mourning, Human Castiel, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Post-Season/Series 12, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sad Dean Winchester, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-04 17:05:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12173136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anastiel/pseuds/anastiel
Summary: It’s fitting that it’s raining, Dean thinks. The earth should mourn him.





	Sacrament

_“You taught me the courage of stars before you left._

_How light carries on endlessly, even after death._

_With shortness of breath, you explained the infinite._

_How rare and beautiful it is to even exist.” - Saturn by Sleeping at Last_

 

Dean’s hands shake when they graze across Cas’ chest. He clutches at the lapels of Cas’ coat, tightens the fabric between his fingers, and smooths it back over his chest, neat. Cas always looks so neat and put together. Dean adjusts Cas’ white button up too; it’s bunched up a little on his chest, so Dean presses it down, iron-flat, fingers sliding down Cas’ torso until they’re covered in warm blood.

An animalistic sob leaves Dean’s throat and he fans his reddened fingertips out across the wound, bowing his head, shoulders shaking.

“No.”

He keeps repeating it over and over. Maybe a proclamation of defiance would be enough, just this one time. He knows it wouldn’t be, because he tried it for Sam many years ago, and knows the end result won’t be any different this time. But he has to try.

_Pleasebringhimback_

_pleasepleaseplease_

_You’ve done it before, so many times. Why not this time?_

Dean raises his eyes towards the darkened sky and glares at it.  Chuck may not be here with him, but he’s gonna hear this, goddammit.

“C’mon you son of a bitch, I know you’re listening. You better fucking bring him back.”

Thunder crackles overheard, and Dean’s not sure if it’s supposed to be nature joking with him or an answer. He takes it as both.

“If you don’t --- I’ll find you myself and make you. He didn’t deserve to die, not like this.”

He watches the sky, watches lightning crackle to life over his head, sparking the white-capped lake across from him.

Dean barely notices the rain starting until it’s falling down his cheeks, mingling with his tears.

It’s fitting that it’s raining, Dean thinks. The earth should mourn him.

Footsteps pound the dirt behind him until he hears them skitter to a stop a few feet away, followed by a shattered gasp.

“Dean,” Sam says, breathlessly from behind him. “Jack’s gone.”

“Good.”

Lightning sparks a tree a couple hundred feet away, and Dean sees Sam kneel next to him in his periphery.

“Fuck,” Sam mumbles, soft and barely audible, but the  fraction of Dean’s own pain mirrored in Sam’s voice makes Dean’s eyes squint shut against a new wave of tears.

He pets Cas’ coat a few times, with bloodied fingers, and gulps down the sobs trying to rush out of his throat. Cas’ wound bled only a little, but enough to leave red splotches dotted on his trenchcoat.

“We need to get him out of the rain, he shouldn’t be out here like this.”

“Okay,” Sam answers. He rises to his feet and offers Dean a hand up.

Dean shakes his head, instead kneeling down further to get his arms underneath Cas’ shoulders and his upper thighs. Dean lifts him up and slowly stands to his feet. Cas’ head falls against his shoulder, and Dean sucks in a breath and lets it out back in a slow rush of air.

“Let me help,” Sam says, bumping his arm against Dean’s elbow.

“No,” Dean says, firm, “I got him.”

Dean starts to walk, carrying Cas bridal style the few hundred feet across the yard to the Impala. The irony doesn’t escape him. The lack of things that could have been, the missed chances of things he could’ve said --- he swallows it all down, and focuses on steadying his steps, keeping Cas’ body tight in his arms.

“Dean?” Sam says, coming to a stop behind him once they’ve reached the Impala, hand a steady weight on Dean’s shoulder.

“Backseat,” Dean chokes out.

Sam moves and opens the door, wincing as it creaks in protest, and jogs around to the other side of the car to help.

Dean lowers him down slowly, sliding him as gently as he can across the seat. He nods at Sam, who grabs Cas’ shoulders, and tugs him further in.

“Careful,” Dean barks out and Sam nods. Dean tries to ignore that Sam’s crying too.

“I can drive,” Sam offers, voice quiet. He’s speaking to Dean so gently, voice barely above a whisper. Like he’s scared to say something wrong, something that will make Dean set fire to the sky above them.

“No,” Dean answers, casting one last lingering glance at the backseat and Cas’ now-pale and  slack face, before softly closing the door. “I’m driving.”

The Impala’s wheels spin in the mud as Dean peels away from the house. The only traces of existence left are a single porch light flickering and the imprint of angel wings burned into the ground.

* * *

Dean has a death grip on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead at the flickering white lines in his vision. The tears stopped awhile ago, but the shaking sobs remain, rattling his body every few minutes. He can sense Sam’s worry in the tight set of his shoulders, the sad puppy looks he keeps giving him, and the occasional glance back towards the back seat. Dean puts on a tape to get out of the quiet, but slams the eject button when Zeppelin starts playing.

He digs the box of tapes out from under his seat and shoves them in Sam’s direction.

“Pick something else, I don’t care what.”

Sam doesn’t reply, just starts rifling through the box like Dean asked. Dean feels bad, he does, but everything hurts, and all he can think about right now is getting home. So he drives.

Around the southeastern tip of Idaho, Sam speaks up again, tapping Dean’s forearm with his fingers and asks, “Are we stopping anywhere?”

“No.”

“Dean... it’s a twenty-five hour drive.”

“I don’t care.”

Sam sighs, heavy and Dean watches him scrub a hand over his face out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t want you to kill yourself just trying to get us home.”

“We’re not staying in a hotel and leaving him out here all alone, you understand?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, “I understand.”

Dean gives him the barest of smiles he can manage. Sam smiles a little back, through teary eyes. They’re trying, that’s all that matters.

Wyoming flies by in a early morning haze of sunrise. Dean doesn’t get tired, can’t possibly, not when his veins feel like the they’re drumming, and there is a pickaxe buried in his chest. Sam slumps against the window somewhere a few hours outside of Lebanon. But by the stuttered intake of his breathing Dean knows he’s not sleeping, he’s just hiding his silent tears. Dean hasn’t looked into the rearview mirror once the entire drive.

They pull into the Bunker around one am,  twenty-three hours after leaving North Cove. The engine roars to silence and Dean sits in the driver’s seat for nearly a minute trying to calm his breathing.

He gets out of the car, on wobbly, stiff legs and rests his arms against the top of the Impala, rubbing his hands over his face. Sam stands directly across from him, eyes wide and watching, waiting.

Dean knows what he’s waiting for, but he can’t -- he can’t say it.

Sam finally speaks, in a quiet, little boy voice Dean remembers from when he was scared in their childhood. “Where do you want him?”

“His room.”

Dean looks up, meets Sam’s eyes, and he nods just once, then opens the back door on his side.

Dean walks over to Sam’s side, limping a little, as he regains control of his feet. His entire body is still shaking, dry sobs coming back as he stoops down into the backseat and sees Cas’ face.

He’s paler now, more than just his mouth tinted blue, and Dean struggles to stay on his feet. Sam places a gentle hand on his shoulder, “I can help you, if you want.”

“No,” Dean answers, “Just help me get him out of the car, and get the door, I got him the rest of the way.”

Sam nods, and together they pull Cas from the backseat. Sam helps Dean lift Cas into his arms. Dean can’t (won’t) look at Cas’ face, so he focuses on Sam instead, watching as he closes the Impala’s doors and follows behind him as he heads to the door of the bunker. Sam leads him into the bunker, staying in front of him until they reach Cas’ room. He opens the door and pauses in the doorway.

“I’m gonna go make us something to eat, okay? I’ll be in the kitchen if you wanna join me.”

Dean nods, and waits until the door clicks shut behind him before stepping forward.

He lays Cas down gently, making sure he’s in the center of the bed, pillow comfortable under his mop of dark, wet hair. With soft fingers, Dean slides his hand into Cas’ damp hair, fingertips brushing over his forehead. He lingers too long, dirty fingers buried in the cold shock of Cas’ hair.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you like you saved me.”

He wants to kneel next to Cas’ bedside, stay there and pray, just like he prayed in Purgatory. Maybe if he annoyed God enough, he’d listen. But he doesn’t. The room feels stifling, and the need to take an angel blade to his own chest amplifies every moment he looks at Cas’ dead face. He hears clattering from the kitchen down the hallway and releases a heavy breath. He’ll come back in awhile. Cas would want him to eat, to take care of himself. He should... do what Cas would want.

“I’ll be back buddy, don’t go anywhere,” Dean says, softly, dragging his fingers through Cas’ hair one last time. He leans down and kisses the top of Cas’ cold forehead. He leaves the light on and the door open when he leaves, with one last glance over his shoulder at Cas, before heading down the hallway towards the kitchen.

Dean smells bacon before he even gets to the kitchen. Sam is at the stove, spatula in hand as bacon sizzles in the skillet. It’s enough of an unusual sight that it draws the tiniest of chuckles from Dean’s mouth and the sound makes Sam turn to him, eyebrows crinkling with worry.

“Bacon and eggs okay?” Sam says, quirking an eyebrow and Dean huffs.

“Yeah, since it’s the only thing you won’t burn.”

“I’m not that bad of a cook, Dean, c’mon,” Sam says with a half-hearted eye-roll.

“Sure whatever you say, Sammy.”

There’s silence and then popping of bacon and Sam rest the spatula down on the counter.

“You should wash your hands,” he states.

Dean glances down at the dried blood on his still shaking fingers, and nods a few times, just staring at them dumbly. Maybe if he stares long enough it’ll go away and everything will go back to how it was before yesterday.

“Hey, c’mere,” Sam says, taking Dean gently by the arm, and leading him over to the sink near the door. He turns the water on, and Dean lets Sam move him until his hands are under the warm water. He stares as the clear water turns red and swirls down the sink.

“Dean,” Sam says, and it startles Dean out of his haze, and he looks up at his brother.

“You need to actually wash them. Cup your hands.”

Dean obeys and waits while Sam grabs the bar of soap and drops it into them.

“Now wash.”

He doesn’t know how he manages to move, but he does, and scrubs his fingers and his palms until they’re white again. The bar of pink soap soaks up the red, and he tosses the soap into the nearby wastebasket before rinsing the suds off. Sam puts a clean towel across Dean’s arm and Dean nods his thanks.

“I want to go to a crossroads,” Dean admits, as he dries the water off his hands.

“I know you do, but don’t,” Sam replies, firmly.

Dean looks up at him through the tears welling in his eyes.

“I know that’s pretty hypocritical of me to say, but you know Cas wouldn’t want that.”

“I know but I can’t - don’t know if I can----”.

_livewithouthim_

Sam’s arms wrap around Dean’s shoulders and he pulls him into a hug.

“I get it. I do. And I’m here if you need me, but please Dean don’t do anything stupid okay?”

Dean pulls back, sniffling and nods, even though he doesn’t mean it.

“Go sit down at the table okay, and I’ll bring you some food.”

“Okay.”

He manages to get down a few pieces of bacon down, half a glass of orange juice, and half of a portion of eggs before he feels sick to his stomach. He pushes his plate towards Sam, and rises from the table, an itch under his skin that makes it feel like his skin is crawling.

“I’m gonna go take a shower.”

“Okay.”

“Thanks Sammy,” Dean says, with a half-smile.

“No problem.”

* * *

Dean looks the other way when he passes Cas’ room on the way to the showers. His own room feels sparsely empty and he stares at his dresser for what feels like an hour before he grabs an old AC/DC t-shirt out of his top drawer and a pair of loose sweatpants from the bottom one. He cradles them in his arms and heads back down the hallway towards the showers.

The hot water soothes the tightens in his shoulders a little. In solitude, surrounded by the pounding of water around him, he buries his face in his hands and lets the silent sobs rush out. He cleans the dirt and grime from his body, feeling unnaturally clean when he finally shuts the water off and grabs a towel.

He feels a little better, a little more like himself, a little less like an aching shell of a man.

Dean grabs a spare blanket from one of his drawers and ends up running into Sam on the way down the hallway. Sam squints at the blanket in his hands, and Dean looks away from his prying gaze.

“I don’t want him to get cold.”

He brushes past Sam’s frozen form in the hallway and takes a steeled breath before re-entering Cas’ room. Everything is as he left it, Cas included. He spreads out the blanket across Cas’ body, tucking it under his shoulders, making sure it’s up high enough to fight back any unwanted chills.

Then he settles himself down next to the bed, cross-legged.

“So did I ever tell you about the time Sam broke his arm when he was just a kid because he thought he could fly? Well, he was pretending to be Batman and I was Superman...”

* * *

Dean wakes to soft fabric pressed against his cheek. His ass aches from the hard floor beneath him, and he raises his head slowly, disoriented. He rubs at his cheek, which has indented lines from the folds in the blanket and looks over the bed to his left and feels his heart jump into his throat.

_CasisdeadCasisdeadCasisdead_

“Sam?!” Dean yells, panic filling him, as he scrambles to his feet, eyes wide, trained on Cas’ motionless form on the bed.

Sam runs in a few seconds later, gun in hand out of habit. After assessing the situation he pockets the gun, and takes a few steps closer to a skittish Dean.

“Hey, look at me,” Sam says, and reluctantly Dean turns his gaze away from Cas to Sam.

“He’s dead,” Dean whispers.

“He is,” Sam says, softly.

“He’s not supposed to be dead, he can’t die,” Dean says, then he’s turning back towards Cas’ body, half crawling on the bed to bury his face against Cas’ chest when Sam grabs him by the arm.

“Hey, you know what? I think you should not sleep in here, okay? It’s not a good idea.”

“But.”

“Dean, I don’t want you to have to keep going through this every single time you wake up and remember what happened.”

Dean relaxes, and falls back to the floor, feet hitting it with a quiet thump. “Okay.”

“Let’s get you to your bed, okay?” Sam says, hand still on Dean’s arm, leading him out of Cas’ room and down the hallway.

He leaves the door open though, which is as much of an invitation as Dean will need in a few hours to go back and sit with Cas some more. He humors Sam for now; it's the least he can do. It’s not like he’s actually going to sleep anyway.

A few hours later, around mid-morning, Dean sneaks back into Cas’ room. He sits on the edge of the bed this time, pulling back the blanket to find Cas’ hand and entangle his much warmer fingers with Cas’.

He watches him for awhile, hoping for a twitch of his eyes, or the quirk of his mouth, a suck in of breath. When nothing happens, he starts talking again.

“You know what’s fucked up? After all this shit with Jack was done, I was... I was gonna tell you the truth. Like about how I feel and stuff. How I feel for you, I mean. It’s been years man, since Purgatory probably and because I’m chicken shit and you kept leaving and shit kept happening I didn’t think there was time, didn’t think you felt the same way. But then there was that moment a few months ago where you almost died, you said you loved me, and something snapped. I promised myself that when we were done with all this shit, I would tell you, and I don’t know hope that you didn’t think I was an idiot for waiting so long. Turns out I was. I should have just said, ‘Fuck it,’ and done it then. But I didn’t, and now... now you’re gone. And I’m gonna regret this for the rest of my life. I know you can’t hear me but I had to say it anyway, just once. Just tell you that, yeah I love you too. Sorry it took so long.”

Dean’s crying when he’s done, and clenching Cas’ hand so tight within his that his own knuckles are turning white. He releases him quickly, dropping Cas’ hand and covering it back up with the blanket. It feels weird holding something so cold that used to be so warm. Cas shouldn’t look like this.

Maybe Sam was right, and the longer he stays in here, the worse he’s gonna feel.

He’s done this before, when Sam died, and yeah, it did make him feel worse. But to be away? That hurt like hell. He’d rather ache a little than feel like he’s dying all the time.

He slides down to his spot next to Cas’ bed, resting his back against the nightstand. His hand finds Cas’ under the blanket and he covers it with his own. He rests his head against the side of the mattress, pats Cas’ hand underneath his, and closes his eyes.

“Night Cas.”

* * *

The next day passes by in a blur of pain, eating, drinking, and more pain, followed by Sam trying to distract him from the pain. He spends most of his time at Cas’ bedside, either talking to him, or just sitting and waiting, hoping that something will change.

“You can’t do this forever,” Sam says when they’re both in the bunker’s war room, whiskey running rampant in their veins.

“I know,” Dean answers, and it comes out more like an obnoxious child, “I’ll wait for as long as I have to.”

Sam sighs, and gulps down whiskey instead of replying.

Distraction comes in the form of a searching for a case - well, at least for Sam anyway. Dean buries his nose in as many angelic books that he can get his hands on to, hoping maybe there will be at least one line about a spell to bring angels back to life. He’s never heard of it before, and they probably would have before now, but the bunker’s extensive library is full of surprises.

He’s focused on a particular paragraph in a wrinkled leather book, when Sam slides a newspaper clipping across the table to him.

“Werewolf,” he states simply, tapping his fingers on the tabletop.

“Yeah?” Dean eyes him carefully, and Sam shrugs.

“Got the MO, a guy’s heart gets ripped out of his chest, and his girlfriend goes missing the next morning.”

“Hmm.” Dean drags his finger across the paper, reading line over line of the clipping, and ends up staring into the eyes of a previously happy and smiling Craig, with girlfriend Farren on his arm.

It hurts like hell to get your heart ripped out of your chest, Dean would know.

“Check it out some more and if it looks like our thing we can head out in the next couple of days,” Dean says, not really meaning a word that comes out of his mouth, and slides the clipping back across the table to Sam. Dean stares at the tiny lettering in front of him, squints, and then closes the angel book in front of him with a dusty clap. There’s a pile of them stacked on top of each other,  and he leaves them there, in a messy heap that he knows will annoy Sam. He doesn’t have the heart to put them away, not yet.

After a quick dinner of burgers and two beers each, they head down the hallway together towards their respective rooms. When Dean moves to turn into Cas’ room, Sam stops him with a firm grip on his forearm.

“Listen, I know that all you wanna do is be in there, but Dean this isn’t... okay. It’s gonna become a habit and he’s --” Sam’s voice pauses, shaking a little, “starting to smell. You can’t --”

Dean shakes off Sam’s hand and growls, “I know.” He glances towards Cas’ partially opened door and heaves a half-hearted sigh.

“Maybe just try to stay in your own room tonight? Just for one day?” Sam suggests.

“Yeah, I’ll try.”

Dean looks through the doorway with one last lingering glance, grabs ahold of the doorknob and pulls it shut until it clicks. His footsteps echo loud in the empty expanse of the hallway as he walks away and into his room.

Dean spends the first few hours of the night rolling around in his bed trying to get comfortable and focus on anything but Cas a few doors down from him. It’s exhausting, and he aches somewhere deep inside with the need to cross the hallway and curl up at his side. It takes everything in him to not get up out of his bed. He takes deep breaths and tries to think about past cases or old TV shows. But all that he gets are flashes of memories, flashes of what ifs, and the unbridled emotion in Cas’ voice when he said, “I love you, I love all of you.”

He should have told him. He should have fucking told him.

It doesn’t take long for his pillow to feel damp beneath his cheeks, and he curls into it, and wraps his arms around his chest. He falls asleep somewhere amidst his tears, nose pressed against his pillowcase.

When he awakes again, he rolls over to check the time, and finds that amazingly he managed to sleep a few restless hours. It’s morning enough, five am, that he can make the argument for getting up, checking on Cas, and getting the coffee pot running. He changes out of his snot-stained t-shirt and throws on a clean one, wiping the sleep from his eyes as he pads down the hall.

At Cas’ room he pauses, feet rooted to the ground, panic starting to rush through him.

The door is open. Dean closed it last night.

Dean reaches out with a shaking hand and pushes the door open more, revealing an empty, disheveled bed.

“Sam!!” Dean yells.

Dean rushes into the room, falling to his knees and looking underneath the bed. Nothing. His head falls against the mattress and he tries to even out his breathing. How could someone come in and steal his body? What would they do with it anyway? How the fuck did anyone even get in here? This can’t be happening.

Sam comes running into the room a few seconds later, gun in hand, and stops in the doorway at seeing Cas’ bed empty.

“What happened?” Sam asks.

“He’sgonehe’sgonehe’sgone.”

Sam kneels next to him, resting a warm hand on Dean’s shoulder. It grounds him a little, reminds him this is real and not some horrible nightmare. He wishes it was.

“Let’s check the bunker. Whoever took him couldn’t have gone far, right? If they were a monster or something they’d have trouble getting out.”

“Okay,” Dean says, quiet but determined. He tries to stand, but finds he can’t and looks helplessly at Sam who gets a firm grip on Dean’s arm and hauls him to his feet.

Together they jog down the hallway, Sam with his gun out, training every corner, Dean weaponless in front of him. He doesn’t care, he has to find Cas. They search all the hallways, winding up and down, finding all empty. Dean rounds the corner into the war room and stutters to a complete stop upon seeing Cas, trenchcoat and all, standing in front of him. Alive.

“Cas.”

Cas turns, and his face melts into the softest smile Dean has ever seen.

“Dean.”

Dean gulps, fighting back the tears brimming in his eyes, and visually takes in Cas. He _looks_ fine, trench coat free of dirt and blood, eyes bright and clear, and breathing normally. He’s alive.

Dean closes the distance between them, and wraps a steady arm around Cas’ waist, pulling him into a tight hug. He buries his face against Cas’ shoulder. He feels Cas’ arm wrap around him, his fingers clinging to the fabric of Dean’s shirt.

Dean releases him first, stepping back, and nods at Sam who grins, rushing forward to give Cas a huge hug. “We missed you, buddy,” Sam says, muffled into Cas’ shoulder.

They both pull back, smiling, and Dean can’t keep his eyes off Cas. He just keeps staring, eyes roaming over the entirety of him, worried that he’s gonna blink and Cas will disappear like a mirage.

“How are you feeling?” Dean asks.

Cas contemplates for a moment, and his smile widens a little into a mix of excitement and curiosity. “Hungry.”

“You-you’re human?”

“I... do not have my grace, and I am _feeling_ more than I have in years, so yes I am.”

“What do you want to eat? Burgers? I might even have some potatoes to make french fries and --” Dean starts rambling, and Cas steps back into his orbit, pressing a gentle hand onto the curve of Dean’s shoulder. All at once Dean can’t breathe again, but for the first time in the past three days it’s not because he hurts.

“Peanut butter and jelly?” Cas replies with a quirk of his eyebrow.

Sam chuckles behind him, and Dean huffs. “Alright, peanut butter and jelly it is.”

Dean moves towards the kitchen but Sam’s hand on his shoulder stops him, “Dean wait, maybe... you wanna go and get help get Cas cleaned up and maybe get him some new clothes? I can make him a PB&J.”

Dean glances back at Sam, the soft, knowing expression on his face, and nods. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Cas?”

“I think I’d like that,” he answers.

Sam pats Dean on the shoulder, and pulls Cas in for one more quick brief hug before continuing on into the kitchen, leaving Dean and Cas alone in the war room.

Dean stares, as he has been doing nearly constantly for the past few minutes, basking in the warmth of Cas’ gaze on him again and how he never fails to turn Dean’s world upside down. His mouth tips up into a small smile and he jerks his head toward his room, “Follow me.”

There’s a weird tension in the air when Dean pushes his door open. The slight creak sounds like a gunshot in the silence. He’ll have to remember to oil that later. He pads over to his dresser, stands in front of it dumbly, then looks over at Cas, who is, as expected, watching him.

“Jeans or sweatpants?” Dean asks.

“Sweatpants,” Cas answers. He’s already started shrugging off the trenchcoat and suit jacket, letting both fall to the floor in a heap. Dean pulls a pair of soft, dark blue pants out of his drawer, and one of his favorite Led Zeppelin t-shirts, folding them up in his arms. Dean looks up as Cas starts untying his tie.

“Hey wait, let’s get you in the shower first okay?”

Cas squints at him, “I’m already clean.”

“Not clean enough,” Dean answers softly and he meets Cas’ eyes the moment Cas understands.

“Okay, shower first,” Cas says, bending down to bundle his discarded clothes into in his hands. He leads the way into the shower room, and once inside Dean leaves Cas’ new clean clothes hanging on the shower rack next to the spare pair of sweatpants and t-shirt he keeps in there for himself.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back,” Dean orders, pointing a finger at him. He heads back into his room, grabbing a silver knife and a half-empty flask of holy water off of his shelf.

“I’m surprised you didn’t do this sooner,” Cas states, when he sees the items in Dean’s hands.

“Well, I was a little preoccupied, but I guess I gotta make sure you’re really you.”

Dean steps close, two feet from Cas, and holds out the flask to him. Cas takes it and swallows down two gulps. Nothing happens. He places it on the floor and rolls up his sleeves, rotating his arms so his palms are up, baring his slightly tanned forearms to Dean.

Dean looks down at Cas’ arms and shakes his head, “You gotta do it.”

Cas takes the blade from him and slices a clean, thin line through his skin. Blood drips stark red onto the white tiles of the bathroom floor and Dean suddenly feels sick to his stomach. He turns away from Cas and takes in a few deep breaths.

“I’ll be back in a little bit, once you’re done just to make sure you’re okay,” Dean bursts out in a rush of air. He doesn’t go to move, however. He just stands, waiting to hear the tell-tale sign of the shower turning on.

“Dean,” Cas says, and then Cas’ palm is burning hot through the cotton of his t-shirt on his shoulder. “Will you stay?”

Dean nods slowly, turning around into Cas’ hand, letting out a shaky breath when Cas’ fingers press into his shoulder blade, “Yeah, Cas, I’ll stay.”

Dean occupies himself with turning the shower on, and getting it to a proper temperature, avoiding looking at Cas while he takes his shirt off. He turns back around after making sure the warm water won’t burn Cas’ sensitive, new human skin, and startles when he sees the scar left over from the angel blade.

He moves closer, reaching out with a hesitant hand, traces the crooked lines of the scar with his fingertips. He flattens his palm over it briefly and then pulls back, watching Cas examine it himself with careful fingers.

“How long was I gone?” Cas asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“Three days,” Dean answers almost immediately.

“You didn’t make a deal, did you? Dean, please tell me you didn’t sell --”

“No,” Dean answers, gruffly, “I wanted to, but Sam wouldn’t let me. He knew you wouldn’t want me to.”

“He was right, but how am I alive?” Cas asks.

“I don’t know, God maybe?”

“Maybe,” Cas says, “does it really matter?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

They look at each other for a moment, and Dean’s gaze drifts down to Cas’ scar. He’s not gonna be able to get used to that, but it means Cas is alive, and he’s really Cas, and that’s all Dean cares about.

“Get the rest of your clothes off and then... I’ll help you.”

The words feel weird coming out of his mouth, and he turns away from Cas to give him privacy as Cas takes off his pants. He doesn’t know why Cas wants him here, but he’s not willing to leave either. He’d be waiting outside the shower room door if he wasn’t in here with him.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Cas says softly.

Dean turns to him and feels heat rush up his cheeks as he unabashedly gazes at Cas’ body. Dean clears his throat, getting ahold of himself, but smiles a little to himself at the slight pink he put on Cas’ own cheeks.

Cas rotates his body, facing the warm shower, and dips his head beneath the spray. Dean watches Ca’s eyes flutter shut, and how he drags his hands through his hair, getting it wet. Dean manages to tear his eyes away long enough to pull off his own shirt and pants, standing in only his boxers. If he’s gonna help he’s gotta at least be slightly undressed as well. He gets a little stuck staring on the way the water slides down Cas’ back, over the curve of his ass and down to the floor. There’s a new ache reverberating in Dean’s chest now, but it doesn’t hurt; it feels a little like hope, and a lot like longing.

Slowly, Dean steps forward, pausing a few inches from Cas’ back, before he places a hand on his shoulder. Cas starts to move to face him, but Dean slips his other hand around Cas’ waist, the one on Cas’ shoulder sliding down Cas’ back around to join his hand where it rests on Cas’ stomach. Cas’ back is warm and wet against his chest, so smooth, and Dean can feel every breath Cas takes. He’s solid in his arms, and when Cas drops his own hands from his hair to cover Dean’s, it’s then that Dean finally finds the courage to speak.

“I thought I lost you.”

Cas squeezes Dean’s hands and presses back against Dean’s chest. “I came back.”

Dean smiles and bumps his cheek against Cas’, “You always do.”

Dean allows himself to nuzzle the side of Cas’ neck, then starts to pull back, reaching around him to grab his shampoo off the shelf.

“Tip your head back and close your eyes,” Dean says.

Cas obeys and Dean barely manages to hold himself back from kissing a stray water drop off the side off his cheek. He gets some shampoo in his hands, lathering it up and starts to massage it through Cas’ hair with gentle fingers.

Cas stays very still at first, just letting Dean slide his fingers through his hair and scritch at his scalp. When Dean’s fingers slide lower to the back of Cas’ neck, a soft sigh punches from his mouth, and he lolls his head back into Dean’s touch. Dean manages to rein in his own gasp, focusing instead of taking care of Cas regardless of all the things he wants to do. He stares at Cas openly though, taking in the way his back curves in a gentle slope, the swell of his ass, and how he’s half-hard, plump mouth parted as Dean works his fingers through his hair.

“Feelin’ pretty human, huh?” Dean remarks.

“It’s... overwhelming,” Cas answers, breathy, and when Dean looks at his face, he’s almost certain there are tears brimming in his eyes.

“You’ll get used to it eventually.”

“I’m not sure I want to,” Cas replies.

Dean pats Cas’ shoulder when he’s done, and Cas steps forward, letting the hot water wash the suds from his hair. He slides his hands through his hair to get all of the soap out, arching back into the spray. Cas looks, well, beautiful as always, but it’s fucking Dean up just how comfortable Cas is with him.

When Cas steps back out of the shower, reaching for the shampoo again, Dean quirks his eyebrow up.

“You need a shower too,” Cas states.

“What are you saying I smell?”

“Yes.”

“Gee thanks, Cas.”

“You weren’t taking care of yourself, were you?”

Dean’s silence is enough of an answer. Cas huffs and gently takes a hold of Dean’s shoulder, turning him so that Dean’s back is to him.

“Can I?” Cas asks, from behind him, and Dean nods yes not knowing what Cas is asking for but it doesn’t matter, the answer is yes. It always will be.

The moment Cas’ hands get into his hair, Dean just melts. His eyes flutter shut and he sighs, releasing all of the wound-up tension and pain of the past few days from his body. Cas mimics Dean’s movements from a few minutes earlier, but drags it out longer, eventually his fingers stroke the hairs at the nape of Dean’s neck. Dean remembers how it felt when Cas used to heal him, the love reverberating from just one touch, and it’s all still there, even though his grace isn’t. For a moment Cas rests his palm at the top of Dean’s shoulder, fingers splayed across his warm skin. Dean’s entire body shudders when Cas places a lingering kiss to the nape of his neck.

Cas pulls back, and Dean’s shoulder burns at the lingering tingling sensation of the touch of his hand. He rotates his body so he can look at Cas, who is immersing himself in the water next to Dean, scrubbing his armpits, seemingly oblivious to how he just tilted Dean’s axis off its center.

Dean strips out of his shorts, figuring if he’s gonna take a shower, he might as well do it all the way, tossing them into the now communal pile of clothing with Cas’ old trenchcoat and suit. He steps away to grab a washcloth out of the cubby near the door, and turns back to find Cas looking at him with a soft smile on his face, blinking back water out of his eyes.

Dean gulps, swallowing down a rush of emotion he doesn’t want to confront right now. He’s blushing when he takes his place at the shower next to Cas and takes a moment to turn his back to him, composing himself, before going through the monotony of cleaning himself while simultaneously trying to mentally talk down his growing erection.

He’s never showered with another man before, at least not like this, and not one that didn’t involve him on his knees and a thick wad of cash stuffed into his back pocket afterwards. Unlike previous encounters, with Cas he feels completely safe and at peace. Even though they’re not touching, staying back to back, every so often Cas’ shoulder will bump into Dean’s when he moves and Dean has to resist the urge to do something stupid.

Cas finishes, right before Dean does, stepping out of the shower and grabbing for the faded grey towel hanging on the hook next to the door. He ruffles his hair with it, causing the damp strands to stick up on his head. He looks simultaneously adorable and sexy at the same time, Dean thinks if he doesn’t stop staring, his heart is going to pound right out of his chest. Cas catches his gaze and quirks his lips up into a knowing smile. Dean blushes pink all the way to the tips of his ears, and breaks Cas’ gaze to turn off the shower.

They stand a few feet apart while drying off, trading shy glances. It’s weird to see Cas in something other than his bulky trenchcoat and neat suit. But this casual outfit suits him and makes him look more human than his new physical being already does. He looks soft, and Dean wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around him and bury his face in Cas’ shoulder. He doesn’t, but he continues to steal glances at Cas while they both finish changing. He’s being obvious and yet the part of him that used to hold his reservations against revealing any of his feelings for Cas is gone. He doesn’t care about hiding anymore; he’s lost Cas too many times.

Cas bends down to pick up their joined pile of clothing from the floor, pointedly looking at Dean before tossing it all into the trashcan next to the door. He crosses back to Dean and says, “It’s time for a change.”

Dean smiles, and replies, “Yeah it is.”

* * *

They head back into the war room, and find Sam coming out of the kitchen holding two plates with sandwiches. He hands one to Cas with a grin. “PB&J with extra PB.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

“Annnnnd ham and cheese with all the fixins’ for Dean,” Sam says, handing the other plate to Dean.

“You didn’t need to make me one.”

“I figured you’d be hungry too,” Sam says, shrugging.

“Did you eat?” Dean asks, and Sam nods.

“Yep, while you guys were busy. Beer’s on the table by the way.”

“Sammy, you’re the best,” Dean says, following his brother out of the kitchen.

Sam shoots him a grin as he plops down into one of the chairs across from Cas. “I know.”

Dean does eat, but he’s more fascinated with watching Cas eat. He’s never known anyone who loves PB&J as much as Cas. He loves it even more than Sam did as a little kid, if the noises of pleasure coming out of his mouth are an indication. Cas is about halfway through his sandwich when he takes a breath, pausing to take a few sips of his beer and sigh in satisfaction.

“That good?” Dean teases.

“It’s like the perfect combo of salty and sweet, and just makes me feel really happy.”

“You’re weird.”

“Says the man with a pie fetish.”

“It’s... not a fetish!”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Cas says, and winks, before going back to munching on his sandwich.

Dean rolls his eyes in Sam’s direction at how strange Cas is, but finds Sam sipping at his beer and smiling happily back at him.

When he’s finished, Cas sits back in his chair with a sigh of satisfaction, pushing his plate away from him. He downs the rest of his beer with two smooth gulps, and sets the bottle on the table with a quiet thump.

“Feel better?” Dean asks, around his last mouthful of sandwich.

“Yes, but I feel...” Cas pauses, squinting as he examines the internal state of his body, “sleepy.”

“I guess you gotta lot of sleep to catch up on,” Dean states. Sam chuckles next to him.

“I do. I’ll go to my room and take a nap for awhile, wake me up when it’s dinner time,” Cas says, starting to rise from his chair.

“Uh, buddy, maybe not in _your_ room okay? I’ll find you another one, there are lots to spare.”

It takes Cas a few seconds to get it, but when he remember where he woke up, his face goes pale and he nods.

“Okay.”

“I’m gonna go get him settled,” Dean says. He swallows down the rest of his beer, and gets up from the table, walking over to Cas’ side.

“No rush, I’ll just be here looking for Jack,” Sam says with a soft smile, gesturing to his laptop.

Cas is silent as they walk down the hallway, but Dean can hear him breathing in the quiet and that’s more of a comfort than he realized. Dean pauses when they reach Cas’ old room. The door is cracked open, the lamp in the corner of the room shooting out into the hallway. Dean goes in, eying the mussed bedsheets and crusted blood. He flicks off the lamp, keeps distance between him and the bed, and leaves. He closes the door with finality, locking it behind him.

“Let’s find you a new room,” Dean says, “Pick whichever one you want, there are a lot to choose from.”

Cas nods at him, but there’s a strange look on his face, almost like sadness.

Dean lets Cas go in front of him, and watches as he peeks into each room down the hallway. He only looks in for a few seconds, then closes the door, seemingly not interested or finding anything special about any of them. Which is understandable considering they all have essentially the same layout. But a place that’s one’s own has to be special, and Dean wants Cas to feel at home here.

The only room Cas actually seems to consider is the one directly across from Dean’s. He goes inside this one, even sitting down on the edge of the bed for a moment, looking around at the dresser on the side, then out past Dean in the hallway to Dean’s room behind him. Cas drops his eyes, and stands back up to his feet, padding back to Dean.

“You like this one?” Dean asks.

Cas doesn’t reply for a moment, then turns his gaze to Dean and asks, “It’s... alright, but can I stay with you?”

Dean falters for a moment at the implications in Cas’ words. “Yeah, of course, if that’s what you want,” Dean answers before his brain can catch up with his mouth and stop him.

Cas nods. “It is, only if I won’t make you uncomfortable.”

“You won’t,” Dean assures him, with a tiny half smile.

Cas’ shoulder bumps into Dean’s when he passes him on the way into Dean’s room. Dean follows Cas into his room and tries to remember how to breathe.

Cas automatically goes to the left side of the bed, and it warms Dean’s heart that Cas _knows_ which side of the bed Dean sleeps on. He immediately crawls under the covers, onto his side and faces Dean. Mindlessly, Dean fiddles with the lamp on the nightstand and toys with the sheets with nervous fingers unsure of what to do. He’ll just go back with Sam and let Cas sleep a while. Yeah, that sounds good.

“Well, I’ll be in the war room with Sam if you need anything. Get some sleep,” Dean says softly, reaching out with an open palm and patting Cas’ blanket-covered shoulder.

Cas slips his hand out from underneath the covers and wraps two fingers around Dean’s wrist as he pulls away, stopping him. “Dean, stay,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, blue eyes staring intently into Dean’s gaze. Cas fingers are warm, and Dean’s pulse jumps under the slight pressure, and the soft circles Cas has started rubbing into his skin.

“Okay.”

Cas releases Dean, hand sliding back hidden from view, and he snuggles into the pillow pressed against his head, watching as Dean lifts the blanket and gets into bed. Dean curls up on his side, matching Cas’ pose, cupping his hands together, and resting them on top of the mattress. He keeps an acceptable distance between them, about a foot, but they still end up face to face and watching each other.

Eventually, Cas’ eyelashes start to flutter against his cheek and he tries closing them a few times, sighing softly and moving around a bit to get comfortable on Dean’s memory foam mattress. Dean watches the even rise and fall of his chest, counting the seconds between each inhale.

A few minutes later, just when Dean thinks Cas is on the edge of drifting off, Cas peeks open an eye at him.

“You’re watching me,” he states. Both eyes are open now, and there are wrinkles of contemplation etched into his forehead.

“Mhmm,” Dean answers.

“It’s... strange,” Cas decides.

Dean chuckles, “Well now you know how I’ve felt for the past eight years.”

Cas darts his eyes down to the mattress and a shy smile spreads across his face.

“The difference is I couldn’t sleep before, you can.”

“Not tired,” Dean says with a shrug. It isn’t true - he’s gotten sparse sleep over the past few torturous days - but this is nice, this is okay.

Cas looks at him for a moment, eyes scanning over the bags under Dean’s eyes and the tightness of his shoulders. His hand stretches out across the sea of sheets between them and rests across the middle of Dean’s forearm.

“Dean, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I didn’t say you --” Dean starts to retort, when Cas’ hand slides down Dean’s arm. Dean falls quiet at Cas’ touch, watching as Cas fits their palms together, interlocking their fingers.

“You don’t have to say anything, I know you’re worried. But I am not leaving, and... if it’s alright with you, I’d like to stay here. _Always_.”

He squeezes Dean’s hand with intent, and Dean feels his heart jump within his chest. It’s now or never.

“Always sounds pretty good to me,” Dean says, returning Cas’ squeeze with a gentle one of his own.

“Dean,” Cas says, voice choked with emotion. Something inside Dean finally cracks open.

He doesn’t realize he’s moved until he feels Cas’ forehead bump against his own, and the tickle of the tip of Cas’ nose brushing against his. Cas’ breath is hot against his cheek, and Dean drops Cas’ hand to reach up and cup his cheek, palm sliding over rough stubble. God, he’s wanted this for so long.

Their first kiss is a little sloppy, a little too overeager, but Cas’ mouth is softer than Dean imagined, plump and warm, and he’s everything Dean’s ever needed. He opens so easily to Dean, tilting his head back as they trade chaste, curious kisses back and forth until they need air.

“I love you,” Dean whispers, their lips still brushing. He should have said this years ago, months ago when Cas said it first. But late is better than never, and when those three words leave his mouth, he feels everything slot into place.

“I know,” Cas replies with a smile, bumping their noses together, “ _I know.”_

Cas kisses him then, deep and full of purpose, and Dean’s entire world spins. He kisses with power, and pours all the love Dean has longed to feel from him into every press of his mouth. Cas tugs him closer with a gentle grip on his hip, bringing Dean flush against him. Dean whines when Cas licks into his mouth, and slips his hand down to the swell of Dean’s ass.

“I want... so much,” Cas groans against Dean’s mouth. They’re already pressed as close as they can be and yet Cas is still trying to pull Dean into him.

“Tell me.”

“I just want to feel you,” Cas breathes, pressing a line of soft kisses down Dean’s jaw.

“I can work with that.”

Dean slides his hand down from Cas’ cheek to his waist, and moves until he lines up his cock with Cas’ between the fabric of their sweatpants. Dean starts an even slow grind against him, and grins when Cas groans out Dean’s name against his cheek. Cas starts to match Dean’s rhythm, rocking his hips into Dean’s. Cas brings his mouth back up to Dean’s and kisses him with renewed eagerness. Cas is warm against him, and they’re trapped perfectly together in a way that seems close to holy and has Dean losing control faster than he has in a long time.

Dean knows when Cas gets close because Cas stops kissing him, and presses his open mouth along Dean’s neck and buries his nose in Dean’s collarbone. He grips Dean’s hips tighter, and increases his pace of thrusting against him. Dean just holds him tight in his arms and lets Cas make him fall apart. Cas whimpers Dean’s name when he comes, stuttering his hips against Dean’s. And the feel of Cas coming against him, their bodies entangled sends Dean over the edge a few seconds later with a low groan. They share breath as they both come down from orgasm. Cas’ gentle fingers rub slow circles into a divot in Dean’s lower back.

Neither of them move for the longest time, just breathing in near unison, still wrapped tightly around each other. Eventually, Cas moves one of his arms from where it’s trapped underneath one of Dean’s. Dean blinks open his eyes at the movement, taking in Cas’ heavy eyelids and soft, dopey expression.

“You wanna sleep for awhile?” Dean asks.

“Yeah,” Cas says, and then he’s leaning in again to press a chaste kiss against Dean’s mouth.

Dean smiles as Cas pulls away, and adjusts himself against the pillow and from where he’s now being held tight in Cas’ arms. He watches, as he did before, as Cas’ eyes slowly start to flutter shut. His breathing evens out and then slows down, and only then does Dean allow himself to close his eyes.

It’s going to take at least a few weeks for Dean to recover from Cas' death, to get used to the fact that he’s alive and that he’s staying, for good. Three days ago Dean's entire world was ripped away from him, and now he has everything he’s ever wanted. To say he feels like he has whiplash is an understatement. But it’s good, great even. No longer is his future going out guns blazing. His future is being with Cas, exploring humanity with him, and Dean can't wait to see what that looks like. 


End file.
